Lol, when I say I'm taking a break, I just chat bullshit. I did edit my pieces though, so hopefully, there are fewer mistakes to annoy the fuck out of my readers. On a different note, I don't want you guys to hate me, but there won't be a second chapter to Turn my head and I'll tell you why. I tried to write it and at first, I wrote it smutty and a little complex but over all, fun times except it didn't sit right. When I bring Beth back from the dead, most of the time she's perfectly fine, ready to just keep going and I don't think that does justice to the trauma to being shot in the goddamn head. So, with that in mind, I rewrote it with some kind of darker, complicated vibes and it came out a lot like my other piece Fragmented and then when I read that piece I thought, this fits really well as a sequel to Turn my head. Point being, I'm officially calling Fragmented the sequel and I'm sorry if that upsets some people but sometimes the stories direct themselves and I really feel like that fits. I'm not a complete bitch though because there will still be another chapter to Tonight I wanna dance for you, as well as a Daryl POV to Yes, Sir and a can you believe it: a prequel to Yes, Sir, even though Yes, Sir was a prequel to Good Girl. So I really hope that makes up for it and hope you don't hate my guts. On yet another note, there are probably so many things incorrect with things I've written about in this profession because it's not my own profession, so I apologise in advance.
"Yes. God, yes. There, right there!"
Daryl listens to Beth's lusty groan, feels her pussy tighten up on his cock as he drives up into her and whilst his head swims and his jaw clenches, his hands squeezing her ass, he wonders how the fuck they got here.
"Daryl! Zach just called in, said he was gonna be late, asked if you could cover his first appointment."
Daryl looks up from the sign he's turning on the door from 'closed' to 'open' and his eyes -covered with sunglasses- meet Rosita's, his new secretary. "Second time this week. 'Chonne's gonna have to cover my morning sessions, tell her when she gets in an' pull Zach's schedule for me."
There's the tap of her nails as she types on the laptop where all sessions are organised into a schedule. "We got a Beth Greene, first timer. Down her spine, not scared of needles."
"They never are," he mutters as he deposits Rosita's latte on the counter.
She takes it with a 'thanks' and he looks up when his employee Michonne walks through the door, her hair dyed a vibrant red today. She tends to switch it up every couple of days for the heck of it, but Daryl gets whiplash to the point where he finds it difficult to recognise her on occasion.
Rosita and Daryl greet her before his secretary fills Michonne in and he goes into the back room, organising what he needs before he has to cover Zach's first session, which will be in less than ten minutes and he usually tells clients to come a little earlier, so really it could be any minute. As if summoned with the thought, he hears the shop door go and then feet as they pad to the front desk.
"Hi, I'm Beth Greene, I got a session at nine?"
"Hey, take a seat. Daryl'll be with you any second."
The faceless voice is just saying 'thanks' when he steps out the back and catches the clients eye, jerking his chin at her to follow without really taking her in. When she comes through to the back, he's greeted with a 5'4 woman who looks more like a fairy than an actual human being, her eyes large and too blue, her lips thin and face already fixed into a smile, one of those overly complicated plaits falling in a thick, blonde rope over her left shoulder.
Daryl blinks at her for a second, taking in her short stature and small body and he has no fucking clue why but there's a sharp zing straight to his balls the longer he stares. Blondes aren't his type -for as much as a type that he has- but there's something about this one that catches his attention, with no present reason why.
Might be that fucking braid.
"Take a seat," he says by way of greeting her, trying to keep his head on straight and she does, sitting on a chair and depositing her bag to the floor.
"I thought Zach would be doin' my piece?" She asks as she pulls her jacket off.
Daryl nods and while he watches her put her jacket over her bag he can't help feeling like he recognises her. "He's late, gonna be me today but I got the design. You still want this? With the white ink?"
He knows some people are funny about going with an artist they haven't chosen themselves and if she decides to wait for Zach then Daryl's going to crush his employee's balls for the lost slot, but Beth nods and he nods too, retrieving her design. They both look at what she chose when she was here with Zach previously since all clients have to come for a consultation.
He thinks the familiarity might be because of that but he wasn't in the day she was, according to the records. Beth looks over the design he has: phases of the moon that she wants down her spine in white ink. It's a common tattoo, one of the most common ones he does on women and he wants to roll his eyes at it but he's a professional and he shuts that shit down, instead waiting for her nod of confirmation before he nods too.
"Wanna get on your stomach for me?"
She must have done her research, which he likes because as he gathers the things he needs, she turns onto her stomach on his reclining chair and removes her top, pressing it under her breasts until her back is bared to him, her braid slipping into the crook of her shoulder. When she expresses her comfort, he washes the area he'll be inking and ensures there's no hair he has to shave.
It seems she's already done it and while he glides his fingers over her spine -telling her verbally why he's doing it- another part of him marvels at how soft her skin is. Daryl's tattooed a lot of women in a lot of different, intimate places but pretty much all the time they have hair on parts of their body that make them blush, whether it's a fair blonde or a thick black.
Beth's good to go though so he applies the transfer to her skin. "Come have a look."
She cups her top to her chest as she gets up off the chair, crossing the room to the full-length mirror and glancing over her shoulder at the placement of the design. "Yeah, that's perfect."
"Alrite, let's do it."
Back on the chair she goes and with the ink and machine ready, her reassurances that she's also ready, he starts tattooing her skin. She's solid as a rock and not all that talkative, but he's fine with that because the alternative to first timers is fainting or crying or making him wait well past their session to get back to the design.
She twitches at certain points on her bone and he has to stop, tell her to keep still and she mumbles an apology, face red. Silence laps again and when he's nearly done the first moon phase minutes later, wiping off the excess, he decides to speak up because the fingers pulling her skin taut just keep absorbing her warmth and doing weird things to his gut.
"Swear I recognise you," he says because he does.
Beth laughs, a little breathy. "Possibly. If you're into my music."
"Huh?" He asks as he peers closer to her skin, filling in the bottom half of the first moon.
"I'm a singer, not big or anythin' but I featured at some concerts with some popular people."
That rings a bell, her name suddenly rings a bell too and he remembers a client he had some weeks ago mentioning a concert she was going to the next day, a popular act with a featuring singer and how she hoped that no one jostled into her with her new tattoo healing.
"Right, no, I recognise ya now."
She hums and he keeps working, finishing the first moon and moving on to the second. "So, why this design? Random choice?"
Beth's silent and he thinks she won't answer until she does, quiet, halting but with an undercurrent of bravado that dares him to say anything about her reply. "Erm, I suffered from depression, when I was younger. One night I… went too far, an' when I was recoverin', my mama said that whenever I felt sad or overwhelmed I should look up at the moon because it was beautiful, an' I was beautiful, an' beautiful things deserved to live, so I deserved to live too."
Daryl's very bones repress a shudder and there's something like a stab of guilt in his stomach at his earlier scorn for her choice of design. "M'glad you kept goin', your mama's right."
Beth smiles, he sees it as he looks at the side of her face and suddenly he wants to finish this for her, deliver it beautifully so that every time she looks at her tattoo she feels like justice was done to her. He wants the tattoo to be her hope, anytime she feels like she's slipping again and it's intimate, so deep, this sudden feeling that he wants to give that to her, his artwork, a piece of himself, that his face flushes and he pauses tattooing with the pretence of offering her a break.
She wants it all done in one though and she doesn't take the break or any of the others he offers, sitting straight through the session until he finishes the very last moon at the base of her spine.
He wipes it down for the final time before he informs her, "all done. You's wanna my best sitters." Daryl watches her flush and suppresses a grin. "Wanna see?"
She's so eager to see that she gets up without her top and there's one heaven sent minute where he gets a full view of her breasts, of her hard nipples -from what he's not sure- and there's a twitch in his cock that he bites back a groan for. Then she remembers, grabs the fabric and dashes a look at him that he pretends not to see, his eyes looking at his hands like he was doing it the whole time.
Over to the mirror, she goes and he's suddenly so terrified of her opinion that a sweat breaks out on his brow. "Daryl…" she breathes, looking at him in the mirror's reflection. "It's perfect. Everythin' I wanted. Wow."
He ducks his chin, pleased but not wanting to seem overly pleased and then she's back to the chair so he can wrap her up, advise her what do for aftercare and suddenly they're done, Beth pulling her jacket on and picking up her bag, giving him a small wave goodbye before she leaves to pay Rosita at the front. In her absence he stands silently, wondering what the fuck he's feeling. On the one hand, he's just lusting after her, a flash of her tits and the smoothness of her skin having sparked his interest, not to mention the curve of her ass in her jeans and then, on the other hand, he feels some sort of weird connection with her.
Not just gratitude for the fact that she chose his shop to get her first tattoo because, as a rising star with what he assumes is quite a few followers on Instagram, his shop will get a lot of advertising, but also because she shared something personal with him, something he connects with. He's been in that place, that dark cesspit of despair where he struggled to find anything at all in the world to live for and he knows what a struggle it is to crawl out of that. The fact that she shared that with him when she could have just passed it off under some other reason… it's powerful, or at least it's something because he's not even sure powerful is a good enough word.
By the end of the day, he's still vaguely thinking about her when Rosita lets him know that Beth Greene just followed their shops Instagram page and tagged them in a shot of her tattoo. She's still wearing that same messy braid but she's wearing a different top and the angles too good for her to have taken it herself but he has to admit, it looks beautiful on her, he's proud of it. He really shouldn't, but even after he gives the customary like on the shops official page, he goes onto his private Instagram and follows her. She follows him back almost immediately and that may be the point his life got fucked up.
"Oh my God, oh my God, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, fuck!"
Beth's positively howling and there's no fucking way she can expect him not to grip her tighter, to not bend over her body and sink his teeth straight into her shoulder, his cock squeezed tighter and tighter by her cunt until he's practically dizzy with. There's no way she can expect him not to do these things and there's no fucking way she doesn't expect him to spank her ass when she cums like a rocket, screaming out a tortured cry of release.
They follow each other and they flirt. He's not really good at flirting, he's not even entirely sure this is flirting, but he's putting up pictures with certain captions directed at her, which she likes almost the second he uploads them and she puts up certain quotes he feels like are just for him and he likes almost as quickly. They never actually message each other or even go as far as commenting on each other's pictures, but he can't shake the feeling that they're dancing around something inevitable and that feeling crashes around his ears when she comes into the shop one day for a consultation on her next piece.
"I got you addicted, huh?" He practically teases as she sits on the chair in the studio, his notebook in his lap and he reclined in his seat, casual like he's not fighting a hard-on every time her tongue pokes out and he sees her new piercing.
His shop offers piercings but she never got it here, just uploaded a picture on Instagram two days ago, with a caption along the lines of 'been waiting for it to heal before I showed you guys' but Daryl can't help feeling like that's bullshit. If she's so resolute on getting inked here, why not pierced? Why has she booked a consultation now it's healed? His most hopeful thought is that she wanted to surprise him, uploading it out of the blue and fuck yeah, it did.
A lot more than that too.
She grins. "Somethin' like that."
"So, where'd you want it this time? What you thinkin'?"
They discuss where she wants her new ink and what she wants it to be, drawing several different designs until she settles on a small bunch of vivid red and green roses, tattooed across her hip and thigh, which means she won't be able to wear panties during the session and that's pretty much all he can think about when she leaves an hour later, booked in for next week.
Daryl thinks his soul has left his body.
He thinks it might be a thing, where something so fucking stunning paralyses you and all that's left is a sack of meat, staring.
Which is what he's doing: staring.
Beth's sat in his reclining chair with her phone in her hand, which is innocent by itself. What isn't innocent is the new tan she's sporting, turning her skin the most delicious honey brown after a week away in Hawaii that she documented on her social media, killing him as much then as she is now, her hair so blonde and her eyes so blue and her skin so dark from the sun that he thinks his mouth may never work again. That's not even the worst of it because all she's wearing is a tank top and maybe a strapless bra because he can't see a hint of nipples, but he can't see straps either and where there aren't any straps there aren't any tan lines.
Which meant she sunbathed topless. That while she was in Hawaii, lounging by the pool, her tits were bare and cooking under the sun and fuck, he's so hard, how the fuck is he going to do this? And it just keeps killing him, her body as he sweeps his eyes down, surpassing the missing tan lines and taking in her bare thighs, the tan lines she does have, shaped in a thin line around her hips from previous bikini strings, but there are no panties on at all today, only a cover they offer to females when they do this kind of tattoo cupped between her legs, covering her most intimate part.
Thing is though, there's no fucking point to it, because it's loose just under her flat stomach, curving a little and he thinks that when he sits down and starts inking her, there's a very big chance that he's going to see everything and then she'll sue him because his hand will shake so bad he'll tattoo a thick line straight across her thigh.
He takes the time that she can't see him to grit his teeth and readjust his cock behind the curve of a wall before he clears his throat. "Hey."
Beth glances up from her phone and lies it on her stomach, a large smile stretching her face. "Hey."
"Y'ready for this?"
She nods, an eager smile on her face. "It okay if I record some of it?"
"Yeah, s'fine," he answers because it might actually keep him in check to not look at her cunt on camera.
There's no more preamble but for his standard check ins with her and then he starts inking, once more his hands on her skin, soaking up all the warmth she seems to have harboured from her vacation. At some points, she records and talks, uploading to her different social media accounts and he was right to think it would distract him. With a camera trained on him, he keeps his hands on her thigh and hip when the design spreads there, pulling her skin taut and working the needle into her flesh, his head bent and his shaggy hair covering his face.
Really, he would prefer to split it into two sessions but she does so well, not twitching or moaning and when she asks to keep going he does. Later, like the first time he inked her, she thanks him and gushes and leaves, but this time she presses a kiss to his cheek just before she goes to pay with Rosita and it's so chaste, downright innocent compared to his thoughts of her, but he feels his cock twitch like she's dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth.
That night she uploads a video to Instagram that he can't stop watching and tags his shop's account, singing his praises. As if the video wasn't enough, looking at her stretched out, golden thighs and his big rough hands on her skin, his shaggy hair so close to her cunt it's practically indecent, for the first time ever, she personally messages him on his private account and thanks him once more with a snap of her thigh. It could be innocent, after all, it's similar to the one she's uploaded for the public to see, but it's not, it's so fucking not.
It's not because she takes it from the side in the mirror and she's not wearing panties or a bra from what he can see under her thin tank top and he has the most perfect shot of her peachy ass, bar her taking a full-fledged close up shot of it and there's no way she doesn't know what she does to him with that picture. No fucking way. He replies with something blunt and quick, like, 'come back soon' and then he takes a shower, grips his cock and groans her name as he spills thick ribbons of cum into the overhead spray.
Beth Greene is fucking with his life.
Because she's back, almost before her second piece has healed and she wants her nipples pierced.
He does it, he fucking does it, gets through it with a sweat on his forehead there's no way she doesn't notice, should get a fucking reward for how professional he is, a goddamn Oscar for performance of a fucking life time. He does it and he goes home and he tries not to keep playing the image of her tits in his head with their new silver bars through them, swollen and puffy like they've been sucked. Fails and then his phone chimes and he's got a message from her and suddenly it's like she's reached into his head and plucked the image from his brain because it's on his screen.
On his screen with the message: 'they healing okay?' and there's no way, no goddamn way she doesn't know what she's doing.
He snaps and he barely thinks about his message before he's sent it: 'should come in early tomorrow, they don't look right.'
Daryl's heart is coming out of his fucking chest. It's half past eight in the morning and despite the hour and the fact that he's not officially open, Beth cock tease Greene turns up exactly like he told her to. He leads her to the back, hands practically shaking and his dick harder than rock after so long of these fucking games. That's probably why he's got no finesse, why he's like a wild animal when he rounds on her and takes her mouth, kisses her with teeth more than lips or tongue.
It doesn't seem to matter because she's so receptive, so fucking willing and she grabs his hair and grinds her whole body against him until he shoves her over the tattoo chair and tears at her jeans. Beth groans and he groans too, her skin still so golden and hair startling bright as it spills down her back. This is rough and fast, he knows and if she wasn't soaking wet when he shoves his fingers past her folds, he might think she doesn't want it like this. Doesn't want the way he's undoing his belt with excited, animalist pants.
"You been teasin' me, ain't you, Greene? Been such a little fuckin' cock tease."
She gasps as he lines his dick up, sliding through her wet slit with a tortured moan. "Yes, yes!"
"Why?" He pants, struggling to hold off, her pussy blasting heat over his cock with promises of being buried inside her.
"'Cause I wanted you to fuck me first time I ever saw you," she whimpers, circling her hips back for him.
Daryl grits his teeth and plunges; digs his nails into her hips when she cries out, her body thrusting forward over the leather chair. "You asked for this girl, you fuckin' asked for it."
He fucks her, hard and fast and without much rhythm, gripping her skin and slapping her with resounding smacks and when he cums he practically whines with it, his balls full of heat that he releases straight into her cunt without even asking, his brow falling over her and pressing to the back of her neck.
Beth laughs breathlessly. "Well, it was worth the wait."